“You girls ready to order?” Esther, a fixture at Honey’s for years, appeared at our booth. She flipped to a new page in her order pad and touched her carefully set gray hair. I was grateful she didn’t ask any prying questions, especially if she’d heard the news.
The soup of the day was tomato, so I skipped that torture and had the chicken-fried steak special. I tried not to think of bones or watermelons. What I really wanted was a few biscuits, topped with chocolate gravy. But the thought of chocolate gravy turned my stomach that morning, and I dared not voice that sacrilege. What self-respecting Southern girl said chocolate gravy made her queasy? At least in my neck of the woods, anyway.
Once Esther disappeared into the kitchen, Di shifted forward on her seat. “Could Jerry tell you anything?”
I shrugged. “They were still digging and taking pictures when I left, but at first look the bones have been there a long time. Jerry said years, but he said he’s no forensics expert.”
“Was there any, um. . .”
“It was just a bunch of bones, part of the skeleton was missing. They found some clothing fibers, but they probably have to run tests on those, too.” I sighed and sipped my tea. “I wonder if they’ll be through digging and taking pictures by the time I get home.”
“I bet Jerry’s in a royal mood.”
I nodded. “Ben talked to him earlier. Greenburg PD has had their hands full with wrecks and people getting stranded in their cars because of trying to drive on flooded streets. Jerry about keeled over with relief when the county team arrived at our place and he could leave.”
“Poor guy.”
“The poor person in our field.” My throat caught. “I just keep thinking about who it could be.” Someone had put that body in our field. Most people don’t kick the bucket while crossing a field and somehow get buried with dirt and watermelon vines.
“You’re feeling it, aren’t you?”
“I am.” A sensation washed over me, of desolation and a broken heart. I closed my eyes, and although the sounds of the restaurant continued around me, the movie projecting in my imagination was of a skeletal hand, reaching up toward me as if in supplication: Help me.
“Open your eyes. It looks kind of creepy, and I think the lady at the nearest table wonders if you’ve got narcolepsy.”
I took Di’s suggestion and grinned despite the feelings that had rushed over me. A glance around me showed that no one had seemed to notice my imagination run wild. “Sorry. I can’t help but think about that person. Who. Why. How. When. Did someone miss them? Someone had to wonder where they were.”
“I’m sure Jerry’s going to investigate all of that, or at least he can find out from the county lab. He’ll probably fill you in, too.”
Our conversation hit a lull when our lunches arrived, but I could only manage to pick at my chicken- fried steak. The comfort food wasn’t doing the trick today, but I managed to force a few bites anyway.
“. . .Flanders’ old field. . .” drifted from another table.
I felt my ears perk up again. Di raised her eyebrows and nodded at two tables over.
“Did you ever go out there during high school?” Di asked.
“To old Mrs. Flanders’ field?” I shook my head. “Some friends tried to get me to sneak out there with them one night, but I was getting ready for SATs that summer. I never thought I’d own the field one day.”
“I went once the summer after my junior year,” Di admitted. “With some of the gang. One of the guys brought a BB gun with him. I learned how to kill watermelons that night.”
“You didn’t!” Straitlaced Di, running with the wild crowd? Even this summer, Ben and I had collected empty beer cans we’d found among the vines. Kids hadn’t changed much since we were in school. I had complained to Jerry once and a squad car had driven by a few nights, but they’d never caught anyone trespassing. Maybe I should have done like Ben and had a casual approach. Even if we’d called the police last night, the person would be long gone by the time the Greenburg PD arrived. And what could I tell them? Someone driving a dark car had parked at the end of our driveway and scoped out our watermelon field?
“That was a long time ago, and don’t you dare tell Stevie and Taylor. They still believe their mom’s perfect. But Stevie, I think, is starting to get suspicious.”
“Ha. I wasn’t thinking about telling the boys. I was thinking about telling Momma.” I stuck my tongue out at her.
“It’s a little too late for her to ground me, though.” Di polished off her last french fry, but not before waving it between us. “I’m not like that anymore.”
“I know you’re not.” I took a bite of my chicken. “Um. . .I thought we were counting points for food today. The whole let’s-lose-five-pounds-by-Labor-Day challenge.”
“I am counting points. I’m also going to work out tonight at Shapers.” Di grinned. “So it all evens out. And look at what’s on your plate. We’ve both blown it today.”
“I’m going to Shapers after I work at the store this afternoon,” I admitted. “I can’t go home, and I’m not really in a hurry to, either, especially since Ben won’t be there.”
“When will they be through at your place?”
“I don’t know.” I managed to swallow a bite of baked potato. “But I won’t go home until Ben’s through with his shift here.”
“Hey there, girls.” Honey sashayed up to the table and placed the check facedown between our two plates. “Y’all managed to swim in for lunch, I see.”
“That’s right, and lunch is delicious as usual.” I noticed tired lines around her green eyes. “Gotta support my man and the best diner in town.”
Her gaze darted to glance out the window by our booth. “If this rain don’t stop and business don’t pick up, I’m going to sell the place and buy me a houseboat and host dinner cruises up and down the Tennessee River.”
Di laughed then assumed a serious expression. “Oh, it’s not that bad yet. . .is it?”
Honey tilted her head back and let loose with a cackle that made the hair on my arms prickle. “Aren’t you the cutest thing? I wasn’t serious, I was just playin’!” Several diners glanced in our direction, and a couple of them smiled before turning away.
“Ben said you fired someone?” The question popped out before I could stop myself.
Honey expelled a sigh that would cause the stoniest heart to crumble with sympathy. “I hate having to let people go. But I can’t abide stealing. And that Gabe Davis. Serves him right to lose his job. Nobody gets a second chance to burn Honey Haggerty.”
“Sorry to hear that happened. I’ve only got one employee, and she’s a real keeper.” I studied Honey’s expression. Normally she reminded me of a windmill in high gear, but today she shifted from side to side on her feet like a caged tiger.
“Don’t be sorry, girl. It’s just business. Gabe needed to learn his lesson, and I’m pleased I can be the one to teach him.”
“Honey,” I ventured, “did you ever hang out at Doris Flanders’ watermelon field when you were younger? I’m trying to find some people who did, or who will admit to being there.” If anything big had happened years ago, Honey would be sure to know. Of course, I had no idea how long the bones had been there, either.
“That place?” The shrillness of her voice made the hair on my arms prickle.
“I’m sure you’ve already heard what I found this morning in the field.” The memory of the bony hand clawed its way to the front of my mind. That poor person. They deserved to have their story told.
Honey licked her lips. “Shug, lots of things happened over the years. I don’t know. We all got a little crazy sometimes. Throwing watermelons over the Tennessee River bridge, shootin’ em with cap guns. Sneaking a beer or two. But I don’t remember anybody dyin’.” A shout from the kitchen made Honey toss a glance over her shoulder. “Gotta go, y’all. Take care. I’ll try not to keep your man too late.”
“Thanks. I, um, appreciate that,” I said, but not before Hon
ey whirled away, her focus already somewhere else besides our table. Honey’s evasiveness looked smooth and natural. She’d probably had a lot of practice. I doubted she was as ignorant about the field as she let on.
“Whew, I’d hate to get on her bad side.” Di shuddered. “She always makes me feel like I’ve ridden a roller coaster just talking to her.”
I watched Honey glide to the kitchen area, her head and shoulders visible through the pass-through window by the grill. Her gaze locked with mine once then snapped to a lunch ticket. Then she aimed her wide, toothy grin at Ben.
Not good. But I couldn’t tell Di. Maybe I hadn’t seen anything. Sure, I trusted Ben. Women like Honey, though, always had a smile for a good-looking man.
The front door of the restaurant swung open and the sounds of rain and storm blew in, along with a man who looked to be in his early twenties. A sound of fresh thunder accented his expression. I jerked a glance past Di. She swung around in the booth as several other diners turned to face the door.
“Honey Haggerty, how can you sleep at night?” Gabe Davis stood on the entryway mat. He planted his feet and reached into the pocket of his olive green hunting jacket.
No one wanted to move. All the news reports swept into my mind, the ones about enraged former employees showing up at their place of business, only to start shooting.
“Now, just calm down, son.” An older man at one of the center tables rose from his seat.
“Calm down? Don’t you tell me to calm down. You try feedin’ a family on less than eight hundred dollars a month.” Gabe clomped across the dining room, water streaming behind him. Storm clouds had erupted outside, just as if Gabe had brought his own storm into Honey’s.
I couldn’t breathe. What if Gabe had a gun?
Ben emerged from the kitchen area. “What’s goin’ on, Gabe?” Ben, no! Maybe someone had already called
911.
“Ask your lovely boss, why don’t ya?” Gabe stood eye-to-eye with Ben. “Ask her what she’s done.” He glared at Honey, who stood by the pass-through window, her arms across her chest.
“You got just what you deserved.” Honey ground out the words. “And soon you’ll be in jail.”
“What for?”
“The cops are on their way, and I told ’em you probably have a gun.”
Gabe yanked his hand from his pocket. A woman shrieked. Some diners ducked. I couldn’t move. Ben.
Gabe held a small white paper bag. He waved it at Ben and Honey. “This is medicine for my baby girl. She’s got asthma real bad. I spent my last hundred dollars on her medicine for her breathin’ machine. If anything happens to her, I hold you responsible.” Gabe clutched the bag and raised it over his head. “No one’s going to hire me now, thanks to what you told ’em all. I can’t even get a job at Green Lube changing car oil.” A siren wailed outside. Gabe whirled toward the front door but paused. “This is all your fault. I hope you get yours real soon. In fairy tales the witches always do.” He pushed the metal bar and the door swung open. He ran off into the rainy parking lot.
My heart pounded, and I realized I’d been clinging to the table edge. Di’s face was pale, her eyes filled with tears.
“It wasn’t a gun,” Di whispered.
“No. We’re all okay.” I took a gulp of my coffee. Voices murmured around us.
“Ben.” I squeezed Di’s hand and ran to my husband. “Baby.”
He enveloped me in his arms, and he smelled like bacon and eggs. “Ands, everything’s all right. Gabe didn’t do anything except make a lot of noise. Just like thunder.”
Ben’s soothing tones made my pulse slow. “She really fired him for stealing?”
“She said he did.” Ben shrugged. “But I have my doubts. He claims she said he could have an advance on his check a couple of weeks ago, and she might have for- gotten. We’re still tryin’ to sort that one out.” He glanced over my shoulder, and so I turned.
One of the officers who’d arrived was questioning Honey, who looked like a redheaded windmill as she described Gabe’s entrance.
“And he threatened me, too.”
“Not exactly,” Ben said and stepped around me toward the officer.
Honey, of course, asked all the diners who would give statements to stay, and they’d get a free piece of pie next time they came in.
I rejoined Di at the booth and reached for the check. “I’m going to write out a statement, but I’ve really got to get to the store.”
Di snatched the check before I could grab it. “I’ll take this one today. You’ve had a hard morning, plus all this happened.”
“You don’t have to—”
“Humor me. Go. Take care of your store.”
“I’ll call you later if I hear any more news.” My voice rang out like a bell as I stood. Honey was probably rubbing off on me. Several heads turned. I scuttled away into the gray dismal outside, my mood dimming to match the weather. One thing for sure, I knew Gabe would be staying as far away from Honey’s Place as he could.
Once I arrived at Tennessee River Soaps, I started coffee brewing and listened to the gurgling pot along with my voicemail. Sadie, my part-time assistant, had called. She was an interior design student home for summer break. Even though she hadn’t been free to work the whole summer, she promised to help me run the Tennessee River Soaps booth at Greenburg’s Watermelon Fest in two weeks before she returned to Nashville.
I downloaded my Internet orders to the incoming orders file on my computer. Di had insisted I set up a file system of some kind, and now that business had stabilized I was glad for the plan she had helped install on the computer. While Di worked part-time as a bank teller in town, she put some of her business training to use. I, for one, was glad for her efforts.
The bills made a stack of lifeless pieces of paper. Instead of rows of papers I imagined the watermelon field, with bits of brown bone in the mud. The poor person. Alone. Then I remembered Gabe literally storming into the restaurant. Anger and loss.
The phone’s ring made me jump. “Tennessee River Soaps.” My voice quavered.
“Andi, is that you?”
“Momma.” My pulse rate started to go back to normal. “Yeah, it’s me.”
“You sound real jumpy.”
“I’m okay. The store is very quiet today and I wasn’t expecting the phone to ring.” I didn’t want to get into a discussion about the body in the field. Or what happened at the restaurant. Not now, over the phone with Momma. She’d show up with a pot of soup and want to hear all about it. Although soup sounded delicious, now that my stomach had settled down.
“I was wonderin’ if you had any more watermelon rinds for me. Daddy’s been hollering for me to get the canning started. He eats the watermelon pickles about as fast as I can make them.”
“I’ve got a big bag in the fridge. I meant to bring them by your house today after I close, but I forgot them at home.”
“No matter. You’ve still got plenty of melons in that field, don’t you?”
Yes, and a few bones. And an angry young man who feels hopeless. “Sure do, Momma.” I found an empty coffee cup and filled it. “I need to get out there and pick some more, but with the mud and rain, it’s been a little tricky.”
“Andi, are you sure you’re feeling all right? Your voice sounds funny.”
“I felt kind of ishy at lunch, plus I didn’t sleep well last night.”
“Are you pregnant?”
“Momma!” I reached for the coffee cup, and my hand caught on a file folder, which bumped the cup. It slipped from the desk and shattered on the floor. A brown wave sloshed across the linoleum. “No, I’m not.”
“I was just askin’. A little granddaughter would be nice. I think Di’s run herself ragged with those two darlin’ boys of hers.”
“Ben and I have Spot. Besides, it’s not like I can order up a baby girl.”
“I’m not going to call any pet a grandchild. I want the real thing, to hold and spoil and cuddle. And don’t get smart wi
th me, young lady.”
This was not how I expected the conversation to go. Not talk about babies, those vulnerable blank slates. The thought of having a child around all the time terrified me more than the remains of a corpse in a watermelon field. Most little girls dreamed of carrying a squirming little bundle, feeding it, and singing it songs. I never did. Even when Di came along when I was five, I remember her not being that big of a deal to me. I was more interested in when she’d be old enough to fish with or ride bikes (I’d just gotten rid of my training wheels and wanted someone to ride with).
I taught my church’s high school Sunday school class and thoroughly enjoyed teenagers, even when some at church fled at the very thought of them. But the under- twelve crowd? I shivered. My nephews were extremely talented at steamrolling their bewildered aunt.
“You there?”
“Yes, Momma. I was just thinking.”
“Well, I’ll stop needling you. Call me when you have more rinds to bring over.” Momma hung up. I sighed and put the phone back on the receiver.
I’d hurt her feelings, and I hadn’t meant to. Normally Momma inspired my confidence, and normally I’d want to tell her about the bones. But I didn’t want to talk about it just yet.
I went to find the mop and bucket. The more I tried to ignore what I’d discovered in the field, the more I remembered what I saw. When I crouched down to pick up the shards of coffee mug, I saw shards of bone in the field. I saw Honey’s grin at Ben. Now that was something that bothered me more than the bones. The late nights, wondering why Ben had to work so hard. Another thing I didn’t want to talk to Momma about. My relationship with Ben was fine, and I didn’t want to voice my unfounded worries and bring them to life. And then there was Gabe Davis, reminding me of how precarious life can be. No, he didn’t have a gun with him today. But he was a desperate man.
Stop, Andi. I forced myself to do something normal, like filling the mop bucket with hot water and soap. If only every mess were this easily cleaned up, like spilled coffee on a linoleum floor. I trudged to the main salesroom.
The Wiles of Watermelon (Scents of Murder Book 2) Page 2
